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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29214030">What I Arrived To</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/morning_softness/pseuds/morning_softness'>morning_softness</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I Almost Wish You Knew Me Better [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Autistic Martin Blackwood, Basically the Magnus Institute really is what it claims to be, Episode: The Magnus Archives Liveshow, Gen, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, The Fears exist but (Jonah/Elias is not an avatar of the Eye), The Magnus Archives (Podcast) as a Workplace Comedy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:41:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29214030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/morning_softness/pseuds/morning_softness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Today is the day Martin’s moving from the Magnus Institute’s Library, where he’s worked since he first got a full-time job nine years ago, to its Archives.  He can’t decide if he’s excited or terrified.<br/>or<br/>Jon and Martin make some very bad first impressions.  The Archive is in chaos.  There is a dog.  It is not ideal.  Tim and Sasha do their best to help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood &amp; Sasha James &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist &amp; Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I Almost Wish You Knew Me Better [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144928</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. As we pass by each other, our heads all full of bother</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>“As we pass by each other, our heads all full of bother, we can’t look, we can’t stop, we can’t think, we can’t stop, ‘cause we’re stuck in our own paths and it’s the way it always lasts, and I need something more from you.”—Nada Surf, Let Go album, Paper Boats</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the morning of Martin’s transfer to the Archives, he wakes up at his usual time, eats breakfast, and brushes his teeth.</p><p>He prepares for his morning shower, starting the water and letting it run while he undresses, giving it time to warm up before he steps in.  <i>It’s going to be cold</i>, he thinks unhappily, a memory of frigid water striking pale goose-pimpled skin, of blue-tinged lips and chattering teeth.  Martin reminds himself that the landlord fixed the problem with the water heater two weeks ago.  He reminds himself that the errant water droplets he can feel on his skin as he opens the shower curtain are warm.  Still, the sensory memory is so strong that he shivers as he steps into the shower, carefully avoiding the spray as he pulls the curtain back in place.  Martin takes a deep breath, screws his eyes shut against the impending cold, and steps into the spray.  The water is warm.  Even better, it stays warm for the duration of Martin’s short shower. </p><p>He combs his hair while it’s still damp, trying to make a straight part through the middle of his thick curls, then slips on the clothes he’d laid out the night before: dark trousers, a white shirt, thick socks, a knit jumper.  The Magnus Institute doesn’t require a uniform, but he likes wearing the same outfit every time he goes in.  It makes him feel more like he’s ‘going to work,’ helps him step into his work persona—‘Assistant Librarian Martin’, someone who belongs there and knows what they’re doing.  He supposes now it will be ‘Assistant Archivist Martin,’ but it shouldn’t be that much different.  The only thing that ever changes in Martin’s work outfit is his jumper.  He has a small collection of them in different colors that make him happy, and he likes to wear a new one every day, working his way through the whole collection before he wears the same color again.  Today’s jumper is a warm yellow that reminds him of sunbeams, buttercups, and hot buttered toast. </p><p>There’s a comfort in routine, in knowing how things are going to turn out.  Today that routine is going to change.  Today is the day Martin’s moving from the Magnus Institute’s Library, where he’s worked since he first got a full-time job nine years ago, to its Archives.  He tries to tell himself he’s excited.  The other departments in the Institute are important, of course, but the Archive is its heart, the reason it was created: to collect and preserve the accounts of people’s personal encounters with the supernatural.  It’s a collection that spans almost two hundred years of history, and just thinking about it makes Martin’s heart beat faster.  Those documents aren’t just pieces of history, valuable information about potential supernatural entities, they’re people’s memories.  The Archives aren’t just a starting point for research into things beyond human understanding, they’re a memorial to everyone who’s had a brush with something dangerous and inexplicable, a place where even now anyone can come in and give a statement about what they’ve experienced.  He’ll be making more money, too, which will help because the care home for his mum is expensive.  After paying that and his own rent and utilities, he usually doesn’t have much left of his paycheck, so it’ll be nice to finally have a bit to spend on something other than just staying alive.  Still, he’s been happy in the Library, or at least not <i>unhappy</i>, and it’ll be hard to leave, even if he’s just moving to another part of the same building. </p><p>Martin looks sadly at his roller skates, still sitting neatly in the shoe organizer, as he puts his hand on the door handle, ready to leave.  Skating to work is his favorite part of the morning routine.  He could still change his mind and put them on.  He has enough time.  He wouldn’t be late.  </p><p><i>I wouldn’t be early, either,</i> he reminds himself.  He’d have to pack up his old desk and say goodbye to everyone in the library again while they’re busy getting ready to open.  He’d be in the way.  That would be a great memory to leave his coworkers with, wouldn’t it?  Martin in the way, one last time.  Then by the time he got to the Archives and got his new desk set up he would be late. </p><p>No, today he needs to be early.  Today, Martin has to take the Tube.  He <i>really</i> doesn’t like riding the Tube.   </p><p>At first, Martin sinks down onto the bench, grateful that he seems to be early enough to beat the morning rush and there’s enough space for him to sit.  He hates the awkward feeling of standing clutching the pole or holding onto the hanging strap, and the inevitable embarrassment of tilting forwards or backwards into someone each time the train starts or stops and he’s just a moment too slow at adjusting his balance.  The bench is too hard and cold to really be comfortable, but it’s loads better than standing up. </p><p>Then, just one stop down, the car begins to fill and Martin realizes that slightly-less-crowded is still a lot of people.  People sink onto the bench on either side of him, and he tries to breathe slowly and fight back the feeling of being hemmed in, trapped.  As Martin attempts to focus on his music, letting the sound drown out the world around him, the left-side earbud starts dying, the sound going faint and distorted, and then stopping altogether.  Martin pulls it out and fiddles with it—maybe one of the wires in the cord’s just tangled or loose—trying to find the right angle to make the sound return, but nothing he does works.  Martin makes a small unhappy sound, then bites his lip as an old lady shushes him sharply from the opposite bench.  He tries cupping a hand over his left ear instead, trying to at least shut out some of the outside noise, but it doesn’t muffle much and he can almost feel the force of the stares from those around him.  Martin clasps his hands in his lap and digs his teeth into his lip, trying to breathe slowly and think about anything other than how much he hates riding on the Tube. </p><p>Another stop and a short, slim man slips onto the bench between Martin and his lefthand neighbor.  The man makes his own unhappy sound as his elbow presses into Martin’s side, although considering that Martin’s side is soft while the man’s elbow is hard and pointy, it’s obvious which one of them should be complaining. </p><p>Martin flushes anyway, and mumbles an apology, feeling guilty for spilling into his neighbor’s space, even though he can’t exactly help how much room he takes up.  The new guy is small, but Martin’s still pressed right up against his side on the bench, brushing against him with each shift of the car as it moves along the track.  Martin tries to shift to take up less space, but the movement of the car just makes Martin bump up against him more and accidentally nudge his foot, so Martin gives up trying to shrink himself and instead focuses on sitting as still as possible.  He wonders if he should stand up after all, but the car is crowded enough now that he’d have to stand directly in front of his seat, probably blocking the aisle between the two benches.  Besides, then the guy currently sitting next to him would be directly in Martin’s line of vision.  It would seem like Martin stood up to look at him better, which would be weird.  Martin mentally weighs the relative uncomfortableness of brushing thighs and sides with a stranger versus standing directly in front while trying not to look at him, and eventually decides that while sitting is more physically uncomfortable, standing would make him seem creepier.  Especially since with Martin’s height, and the man sitting down, he’d be practically looming over him.   </p><p>So he stays seated, trying not to think about the way the man’s slender leg and narrow shoulder feel when they press against him—warm and somehow both fragile and solid.  He tries not to think about the way the movement of the train makes the man’s head bob and brushes the top of his bun against Martin’s cheek, tickling it, and how it makes him want to crawl out of his skin to get away.  He tries not to think about the fact that he can smell the man’s shampoo, or the fact that with his left ear open he can hear the way the man is mumble-singing along to the song playing in his earbuds.   </p><p>He has a nice voice, Martin thinks absently.  From the snatches of words Martin picks up, it sounds as though he’s listening to a song about riding a subway train, while riding on a subway train.  Martin smiles, thinking of his own playlist of songs about walking, running, and going to work that he likes to listen to while he roller-skates to the Institute.  Martin finds himself feeling a sudden unexpected kinship with this man. He should find some about trains too, for the days when he takes the Tube instead. Although he suspects it will take a long time and a new pair of earbuds before he’s willing to dare the experience again.  Martin considers asking the man what song he’s listening to, but decides that would probably also be really weird.  </p><p>What makes it worse is that the guy is actually kind of attractive: warm brown skin; narrow face with high cheekbones; large dark eyes behind wire-framed glasses; sharp nose and chin; thick dark hair tinged with grey, piled in a messy bun on top of his head, a few stray curls escaping; long, narrow fingers fiddling with the phone in his lap, a thin black ring on the middle finger of his right hand.   Martin can’t look at him directly without staring and being rude, but he watches his reflection in the train window, bright against the darkness of the tunnel, and sneaks peeks at him out of the corner of his eye.  It’s not the best distraction, but at least it gives him something to focus on other than the overwhelming <i>too much</i>-ness of the Tube. </p><p>Martin surges forward almost before the car stops moving, glad to have finally reached his stop.  The man beside him shoots up at the same time, and they make awkward eye contact as they both stand up together, bumping against each other one last time.  His eyes are brown.  Both of them look away at almost the same moment, and Martin feels his face bloom with heat, knows he’s going red from the neckline of his jumper to the tips of his ears.  </p><p>It gets worse: after leaving the train car they both head for the same exit.  Martin tries to walk faster, to outpace him.   It should be easy with the natural difference in the lengths of their stride, but the man seems to have the same idea and speed-walks to the point where he’s almost running, head down and arms pressed tightly against his sides.  Then Martin tries to slow down, but the man keeps glancing back over his shoulder at him, thin lips pursed and eyes darting suspiciously as if he thinks Martin’s <i>following</i> him, and that’s even worse.  So Martin walks faster again, and the man goes faster too, as if they were two contestants neck-and-neck in a ridiculous race.  Martin wants to scream.  When they arrive at the turnstile, Martin has to pause and fumble in his pocket for his Oyster card while the other man zips through with his at the ready and gives Martin one last glare before he speeds off, short legs pumping furiously.  Martin sags with relief when he exits the station and looks around to find the man nowhere in sight. </p><p>He tries to shake off the feeling as he walks the rest of the way to work. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to comment here or check me out on tumblr (I'm @morning-softness).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. If I start really thinking, my heart’ll start beating fast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>“I'm in no hurry, I want this trip to last.  If I start really thinking, my heart'll start beating fast.  The days, they are shrinking, the horizon is near.  I know I want someone, but there's nobody here.”—Nada Surf, Never Not Together Album, Come Get Me</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Things go better once Martin arrives at the Institute. </p><p>He collects his personal belongings from his old desk in the Library, then heads to the Archives where he meets two other archival assistants—Tim and Sasha—and they’re both unfairly attractive.  Tim in particular looks like he could be a magazine model: muscular, with broad shoulders, perfectly tanned skin, and a wide straight-toothed smile set in a handsome square-jawed face.  He’s probably about average height, but the way he carries himself makes him seem taller.</p><p>Luckily, they’re both also friendly.  When Tim shakes Martin’s hand his grip is firm and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles.  Sasha is tall—surprisingly, not much shorter than Martin—and her handshake is just as firm as Tim’s, despite her slender frame.  She brushes back the thick curly hair that tumbles over her shoulders and down her back, and gives Martin a wide smile, revealing a small gap between her front teeth. </p><p>Even though they came from Research together with Jon, who’s now the Head Archivist, they seem determined to make Martin feel welcome, and Sasha says she’s glad to have him as part of the team. </p><p>Martin tries to pay them back by giving them a general tour of the Archives, since it seems like they’ve never really been down here before.  Martin’s glad Rosie gave him a tour earlier, before he accepted Elias’s offer (‘So you know what you’re getting yourself into,’ she’d said) because he couldn’t stand the idea of jumping into a new position in a new part of the building without having any idea what to expect. </p><p>Although they don’t go in all the rooms, Martin shows them where document storage is, and the break room and toilets, and he even points out the exit right next to the basement stairs that leads to the back courtyard, before Tim reminds him that technically the exit is off of the Research department. </p><p>As they walk, Tim and Sasha keep the conversation going, and Martin finds out more about the Research department and Artefact Storage (from Sasha’s brief stint there), as well as what they know about the Archives and previous Head Archivist Gertrude Robinson, which turns out to be surprisingly little. </p><p>Martin’s always thought it strange there wasn’t more communication between the Library and the Archives given the many inherent similarities between the roles, but he’s surprised to learn that Research and even Artefact Storage don’t really have much of an idea of what goes on in the Archives. </p><p>Apparently, there hasn’t traditionally been much interaction between the Archives staff and <i>any</i> of the rest of the Institute, which seems odd to Martin since the Archives <i>should</i> be the backbone of the whole place. </p><p>Tim says he thinks that’s something Elias is trying to change by hiring Jon.  “He might seem quiet at first,” he tells Martin, “but I promise once you get him going, he can’t shut up to save his life.  And once he digs his teeth into a project he’ll go to the ends of the earth if he has to, and woe to anyone who tries to get in his way, right Sash?”</p><p>Martin shudders at the mental image of teeth digging into the archived documents, and is glad when Sasha changes the subject back to their ideas for getting the archives into better shape. </p><p>Martin’s even able to share some things he knows about cataloging and taking care of old documents from his time in the Library, and he appreciates the way Sasha listens to him, like what he says matters. </p><p>Martin knows he’s not always the best at communicating: sometimes he rambles, or repeats himself, or stumbles over his words, or says the wrong thing, or suddenly clams up.  So it makes him feel warm inside to have Tim and Sasha treat him like he’s worth listening to, like they want to hear his ideas even when they disagree with them, or when he accidentally tells them something they already know. </p><p>The more he talks with Tim and Sasha, the more excited Martin feels about working in the archives, and about working with them.  By the time they get back to the archival assistants’ office, Martin can’t wait to set up his desk and get started. </p><p>The feeling only builds while he’s unpacking and sorting out his belongings, and by the time his desk is set up, Martin is practically vibrating with excitement.  He quickly ducks out the back door of the Institute into the empty courtyard where he can jump up and down and flap his hands and squeal a bit without worrying about bothering anyone. </p><p>He’s finished and taking a moment to pat down his hair and clothes back into some semblance of neatness when he sees the dog.  Martin’s not sure exactly what breed it is—probably a mix if it’s a stray—but it looks a bit like a spaniel: small, with long hanging ears and a fluffy tail that starts wagging as Martin approaches it.  He holds out his hand and the dog trots over to sniff it, then gives it a lick, tail wagging harder and thumping the ground.  Martin pets it, smiling as the dog leans into his touch.  It’s very friendly for a stray, and the fur is soft, not matted, with no sign of fleas, which makes him wonder if maybe it isn’t a stray after all, but someone’s pet who ran away. </p><p>Martin frowns.  The dog doesn’t have tags or a collar so there’s no way to know who it belongs to.  “You should go home,” Martin tells the dog as he scratches behind its ears.  “I’m sure your owner is missing you.  Why did you come here?”  He continues, running his fingers through the long fur on its back.  “Are you lost?  Do you belong to someone here?” </p><p>Martin shakes his head, feeling silly for the thought.  It’s not like anyone would bring their dog to work with them.  He sighs.  As much as he really wants to keep petting the dog, he <i>does</i> actually have a job to do.  He should probably go back in and get started.  Martin hasn’t even met his new boss yet, but he doesn’t want his first impression to be slacking off.  He’ll stop by the front desk on his way back to the Archives and tell Rosie about the dog, Martin decides in an attempt to assuage his guilt over leaving it behind in the alley.  She’s worked at the Institute for a long time and dealt with all sorts of strange things, so she’ll probably know what to do.  
Feeling satisfied with this decision, Martin dusts himself off again, this time checking to make sure there’s no dog hair sticking to his trousers or jumper, and pulls open the door to go back inside. </p><p>Then the dog is dashing past him into the Institute, past the stunned faces of the people sitting in Research, and down the stairs to the Archives.  <i>Of course&gt;/i&gt; Martin left the door to the Archives open behind him when he came outside.  <i>Of course</i> he would find some way to bungle things on his very first day.  </i></p><p>Martin dashes after it, hanging tightly to the stair rail as he thunders down the stairs, wincing at the noise he’s making, but by the time he reaches the bottom, the dog is gone.  Martin squeezes his eyes shut tight and forces himself to take a deep breath.  <i>This is fine.  This is just fine.</i>  He certainly doesn’t whimper a bit when he opens them again and the dog has not magically reappeared.  He made sure to close the door behind him this time when he came down, so the dog can’t escape into any other part of the building.  The Archives are big but they aren’t <i>huge</i>.  He’ll look around the Archives and find the dog before it makes too big of a mess, get it back outside again, and <i>everything will be fine</i>. </p><p>Martin dashes through the assistants’ bullpen, pausing just long enough to note the absence of either a dog or the other assistants.  The door to the break room is closed, but the one to the waiting rooms is ajar so he hurries inside, checking behind chairs and under tables.  Still no dog, but the last of the waiting rooms has a window offering a view into another office, where a thin, dark-haired man sits bent low over his desk.  Martin breathes a sigh of relief.  Oh, good.  Maybe there’s someone who can help. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to comment here or check me out on tumblr (I'm @morning-softness).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I don’t feel grown up, maybe nobody did</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Martin meets the new boss.  It does not go well.  Tim and Sasha do their best to help.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>“Always hesitated, afraid of getting it wrong. There was no love in our home, and it went on so long. I'm gettin' tired of holding this stance, forgetting how to love, forgetting how to dance. I don't feel grown up, maybe nobody did. I was always on my guard, since I was a kid.”—Nada Surf, Never Not Together Album, Come Get Me</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey, sorry, you haven’t seen a dog, have you?”  Martin pushes down his panic and tries for a light and cheerful tone as he pops his head in, hoping his usual smile is still firmly plastered on his face.</p><p>“I’m s-sorry, what?”  The man asks, pushing aside the folder in front of him to focus on Martin. </p><p> “A dog, a spaniel I think.”  Martin comes the rest of the way into the room. </p><p> “In-in general, or...?”</p><p> “No, in the Archives.”  Now that he’s looking more closely, Martin recognizes the man as the good-looking suspicious guy from the Tube earlier this morning.  Great.  <i>Just great</i>.  This is about the last situation in which Martin would want to see that guy again. </p><p> “Why would there be a dog in the Archives?”  The man asks.  His voice is getting louder and he looks upset, which Martin supposes is understandable, given the circumstances, which are not great. </p><p> “Oh, ‘cause, well—“ Martin tries to think of something that might make this situation sound more reasonable, but there’s nothing. </p><p> “—Who are you?”  The man cuts him off suddenly.  The man seems to remember Martin too.  Worse, the man’s looking at him like he suspects Martin is some sort of creepy stalker who followed him from the Tube, which is just totally unfair, as if Martin doesn’t already have enough to worry about.  Like the dog on the loose, and the fact that the attractive guy from the Tube apparently also works in the archives, which means they’ll be working together, and the fact that Martin still hasn’t met his new boss yet and at this rate he’s sure when he does it will be while running through the archives carrying a dog. </p><p>He forces a nervous laugh. "Uh, M-Ma-Martin, and, 'cause... I... may have...l-l-let him in?"</p><p> “What? Why?"  The man asks, as if this was something Martin had chosen to do on purpose. </p><p> “Oh, well, I didn't- I didn't mean to, you know,” Martin says, suddenly feeling a need to make this absolutely clear.  “Uh- I- we were outside,” having a happy stim,“...making friends, and- and then- I, I had to come in, but-" once again, Martin scrambles for an explanation, and this time he finds it, in his memories from earlier in the morning. "My hands were full, and, you know, the door's really heavy, so, so I had to use my foot, and then he just sort of, like, got past me..."</p><p>It’s not entirely a lie.  It’s not a lie at all, really.  The door to the archives <i>is</i> heavy.  Martin <i>did</i> have to open it with his foot when he first brought his box of things in from the library to set up his new desk in the archives.  Those things didn’t happen at the same time as the dog, but there’s no reason this man should know that.  Martin knows there’s no way to spin this story to make him look good, but ‘I had my hands full and the door was heavy so I couldn’t grab the dog’ still sounds slightly better than admitting ‘I left the archives door open when I went outside to stim and then I just wasn’t fast enough to keep the dog from following me back in.’</p><p> “Why were you coming into the Archives?"  The man looks angry and Martin realizes that since this is his first day in the department, giving his first name probably isn’t enough to immediately label him as ‘not a stalker.’ </p><p>"Oh!  Uh, I, I work here!"  He stammers quickly. </p><p>The man stares at him.  "No you don't,” he says.  “I requested Tim, and I requested Sasha, and you are neither.”</p><p>”Oh!" Martin says, surprised by the vehemence of this declaration, and then, “Ohh," because if the only other people in archives are Tim, Sasha, and the person who requested them, then... "Oh, you're... Jonathan Sims, yeah." His voice trails off. "Um- Mr. Bouchard said I'd- I'd... be working for you."  <i>At least now I can cross ‘meet the new boss’ off the to-do list</i>, Martin thinks glumly. </p><p> “Well, he didn't tell me anything about it!" Jon huffs, crossing his arms. </p><p> “He, uh, he said that um-" Martin stammers, not sure how he’s supposed to respond to that.  Martin’s not sure why Mr. Bouchard would decide to transfer him without telling anyone in his new department, but that’s hardly <i>Martin’s</i> fault. “Well, he transferred me from the Library, so..."</p><p>”So I'm your boss," Jon says. </p><p>”I mean, I guess." Martin laughs again, just because this whole situation is so ridiculous, because it’s so much the type of thing that seems to only happen to him.
</p><p>”Which means that... technically,” Jon continues, “I have the power to... dismiss you... if this dog situation is not resolved immediately."  Jon smiles like a straight line, lips stretched out wide and thin to the sides instead of curving up at the corners.  It’s only distinguishable as a smile because his lips are no longer curved sharply downwards the way they have been up until this point. </p><p> “I mean, yeah, probably," Martin laughs.  He’s grateful Jon’s in a good enough mood to crack a joke about the situation, even if it’s not exactly in the best taste.  </p><p>Then Martin realizes that Jon is not laughing.  Jon is not smiling anymore either.  Jon is glaring at him.  Martin swallows, his mouth feeling suddenly dry.  "Oh!" <i>It wasn’t a joke.  Why can I never tell whether or not people are joking?</i> “Oh, yes! R-right, yes, sorry, uh- I'll- s-sorry!"  Martin moves quickly back towards the door of Jon’s office, throwing one last desperate "S-sorry!" over his shoulder as he darts out into the hallway again. </p><p>Martin flutters his hands helplessly as he hurries back down the hallway.  This is the worst, the absolute worst.  He’s been in archives for less than one day and he’s already going to be sacked.  He should have known, really, he never has any luck; all the good of this morning was just an elaborate set-up for this moment, just buildup to the punchline of yet another practical joke from the universe at his expense. </p><p>Martin’s stomach twists when he comes back into the bullpen and sees both Tim and Sasha sitting at their desks.  He’s not sure if the sensation is relief he has someone else to ask or a new wave of embarrassment at the prospect of explaining his mistake again, but now isn’t the time for examining his emotions. </p><p>Sasha has earbuds in and is bent over her desk, examining a file, but Tim raises his head as Martin dashes into the room. </p><p>”Hey, sorry, you haven’t seen a dog, have you?”  Martin calls out to him.  “A spaniel, I think.  I sort of accidentally let him in?”  His voice comes out high and pitchy, a tone that makes Martin wince as it grates against his own eardrums.  He snaps his mouth shut. </p><p>”So, there’s a dog in the Archives?”  Tim asks, thankfully seeming to grasp the situation a lot more quickly than Jon had. </p><p>Martin nods vigorously, not trusting himself to say anything more. </p><p>Would you like me to look for it with you?”</p><p>Martin nods again, head bobbing like a bobblehead.  He’s already embarrassed enough, might as well get some help out of it.  Especially since he might get sacked if he can’t find the dog.  Martin wonders what would happen if Jon did sack him.  Would he actually be sacked from the Institute, or would he just get transferred back to the library?  That might not be so bad.  He <i>liked</i> the library. </p><p> “Hey, Sasha,” Tim calls over his shoulder, and she looks up from the file on her desk, popping out one earbud.  “Martin says a dog’s gotten into the archives.  Want to help us look for it?” </p><p>Martin’s heart swells briefly with gratitude to Tim for not telling Sasha the dog is his fault.  Tim, Martin decides, is a good guy. </p><p>Sasha, thankfully, does not press for details on how the dog got in.  Instead, she  says “That sounds bad.  Of course I’ll help,” quickly popping out her other earbud and coming over to join the two of them.  “Does Jon know?” She asks. </p><p>Martin makes a sound that’s meant to be a hum of affirmation but that instead comes out closer to a whimper.  He bobs his head again and manages to gasp out, “He said—he said that—that he was going to-to-to dismiss me if I—if I didn’t re-resolve the situation im-im-im...r-right away.”  Martin clamps his mouth shut again.  That sounded awful.  Why did he even try to say anything?  It was a yes-or-no question.  He could have just nodded. </p><p>Once again, Martin squeezes his eyes shut tight and forces himself to take deep, slow breaths, trying to calm down even as he feels the pressure gathering behind his eyelids.  <i>This is fine.  This is fine.  This is fine</i>. </p><p>Martin blinks, hard, as he opens his eyes because he absolutely refuses to cry in front of his new coworkers.  He’s sure he’s already made a bad enough first-impression without that.  He tries to fit his usual smile back onto his face, but he’s not sure he manages it properly. </p><p>Tim and Sasha share a look that Martin can’t read, and Sasha’s face hardens.  “That’s not going to happen,” she says firmly. </p><p>”Yeah,” Tim nods.  He places a hand on Martin’s arm in a way that’s probably meant to be reassuring, and Martin does his best not to flinch away from the unexpected touch.  “Don’t worry, Marto, you’re one of us now.  We’ll do this together.  Us archival assistants have to have each other’s backs.” Then he winks, flashing a grin, and lets go of Martin’s arm to gesture widely.  “Onward, brave warriors, to fulfill our noble quest and purge the archives of this dread bane!” </p><p>”Huzzah!  Onward brave warriors!”  Sasha calls out, even as she rolls her eyes.  She nudges Martin with her elbow, and he realizes he’s supposed to say something too. </p><p>”Yeah, uh, onward!”  He manages, shaking his fist weakly at the ceiling, and the way Sasha and Tim smile at him makes him think—for the second time that day—that he’s going to like working in the archives.  Assuming he gets to keep working there.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me: I’m going to make a regular update schedule and update on weekends.</p><p>Also Me: I just finished a chapter and if I have to wait even one more day to post it I will explode!</p><p>There should be another chapter this weekend though.</p><p>Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to comment here or check me out on tumblr (I'm @morning-softness).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. What can I do but dream?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>“Clothes make the man. The house makes the heart. Don't get me started 'bout how hard it is to start or stay on track, or don't dream, or do, whether you want or want not to. Whatever I do, the radio took me the radio radio made me. What can I do but dream? What can we do but listen to stories wretched or glorious?”—Nada Surf, You Know Who Are Album, Cold to See Clear</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time they find the dog, get it back outside, and clean up the mess it left on the floor, Martin has internally pledged undying loyalty to his two coworkers.  He owes them a life-debt, he decides, or at least a job-debt—since technically they saved him from getting sacked instead of getting killed—but it’s close enough.  He swears to himself that he will do everything in his power to repay them.  Although at the moment, the only thing he has to offer is...</p><p>“Tea?” Martin asks, moving towards the break room.  “Thought I’d make myself a cuppa before we got started.  D’you want any?”</p><p>Sasha makes a face.  “If it’s that stuff in the cupboards, no thanks!  It looks like it’s been moldering there for years.  If Gertrude drank tea at work she must have taken her stock with her when she left.”</p><p>“Oh, actually I have some of my own,” Martin says, stopping by his desk to pull out the tin.  “It was sort of a goodbye present from the library staff, since I worked there so long, I guess?”  It’s <i>good</i> tea, a variety package with several of Martin’s preferred blends, and Martin normally wouldn’t be quite so eager to share with people he’s just met, but he owes Tim and Sasha so he opens the tin and holds it out for them to choose their preferred variety.  “You can pick whichever you like.”</p><p>“Thanks Martin, that’s sweet of you.  Oh!  You have my favorite kind!”  The way Sasha’s face lights up as she surveys the selection and picks out a roasted green tea makes warmth bloom in Martin’s chest.  At least he’s done <i>something</i> right. </p><p>“Jon likes Nilgiri tea,” Tim says, after he’s picked out his own preferred blend—a raspberry black tea blend, Martin tries to ingrain Tim’s and Sasha’s tea preferences on his brain so he can bring in more later—“in case you were thinking of making some for him as well.”</p><p>Martin chews his lip.  Nilgiri happens to be his favorite kind of tea, and he’s torn between another small surge of kinship at learning something they share and a feeling of irritation that he’ll have to share his favorite tea with Jon.  Martin does not owe Jon any debt of gratitude that would justify this sacrifice.  Not when Jon insisted the dog situation be resolved immediately and then sat stubbornly in his office instead of helping them resolve it.  On the other hand, Jon is Martin’s new boss on whom he’s managed to make a spectacularly bad first impression.  Bringing Jon a cup of his favorite tea might help to tip the scales back in Martin’s favor just a bit.  He bites back a sigh and grabs the teabag.  “Right.  Do you know how he takes it?”</p><p>Martin enters Jon’s office to find Jon sitting with his elbows on his desk, hands balled in his hair above his temples, jaw clenched and staring at his laptop as if willing it to spontaneously combust.  The laptop is producing hideous bursts of static and distorted sound. </p><p>Jon jumps when Martin enters, then glares at Martin while mercifully pausing whatever sound file was playing.  “Martin!  What are you doing here?”</p><p>“I brought you a cup of tea,” Martin says, holding out the mug between them.  “I thought it might be nice to calm down a bit after all that fuss earlier, and Tim said you like tea, so...” He trails off as he waits and Jon makes no move to take the mug. </p><p>Jon’s eyes narrow, and his eyebrows draw down further. </p><p>“If you have time to make tea, then you have time to get to work and do your actual job,” Jon snaps.  “I have no idea why Elias decided to add you to the team, but I’m sure it wasn’t for your spectacular tea-making skills.  Given all the time we’ve already wasted this morning over the dog business,” his nose wrinkles and his lips twist on the last phrase, “I would expect you to be working your hardest to make up for lost time.  <i>Like I would be if this damned laptop would only cooperate</i>,” he mutters the last in a tone low enough he probably doesn’t expect Martin to hear. </p><p>“I just thought it might be nice,” Martin says, “and you stayed in your office working the whole time we dealt with the dog so you—” Martin stops, biting back the words on the tip of his tongue.  He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he’s trying to remedy his bad impression with the new boss, not make it worse.  “So I thought maybe you could use a bit of a break,” he finishes in a purposefully cheery tone. ‘So you weren’t any help at all and don’t have any right to complain’ he does <i>not</i> say, no matter how hard he might be thinking it. </p><p>“Yes, well, <i>some</i> of us actually care about our jobs,” Jon says bitingly. </p><p>Martin tries very hard to keep the smile on his face as he works out how to respond.  This is not how things were supposed to go.  Jon was supposed to like this kind of tea.  Jon was supposed to take the tea (if not with gratitude, he was at least supposed to <i>take</i> it), and drink it, and get over a bit of his bad mood because that’s what happens when someone gives you something you like.
Martin had not considered the possibility that Jon would simply flat-out refuse to accept the tea.  Now he’s not sure what to do.  He can’t stand the thought of just throwing it out and wasting a cup of very good tea.  He could drink it himself, but he already made himself his own cup of tea, and the idea of drinking two cups of tea from two different mugs at the same time just seems wrong.  Tim and Sasha both already have tea as well.  There might be someone else in the Institute who doesn’t have tea and might like a cup, but Martin’s not about to go asking around until he finds one, so... </p><p>“Right.  Well, I’ll be going then,” he says, setting the mug down on the closest corner of Jon’s desk. “And I’ll just leave this here in case you change your mind.”  He hurries out of Jon’s office and shuts the door behind him, pretending he doesn’t hear the beginning of Jon’s protests behind him.  At least he knows Jon can’t dump the tea out in the office wastebasket, and Jon would have to walk past the assistants’ desks to pour it in the break room sink, so if he really does decide not to drink it then Martin can stop him before he throws it out and just drink the tea himself after all. </p><p>When Jon does come out of his office a few minutes later, to Martin’s relief it is not to dump his mug of tea in the sink.  Instead, he goes directly over to Tim’s desk, where Tim is pulling up records on his computer, looking into one of the statements he says Jon’s decided to start with.  If Tim also happens to be playing Risk in a side window at the same time, well, that just means he’s better at multitasking than Martin is. </p><p>“Oh, Tim, do you know if we have any better recording equipment?”  Jon asks.  “My laptop’s playing up.” </p><p>“Recording equipment?”  Tim responds, quickly closing the game and pulling up the tab of apartment listings.  “Um, oh, yeah!  I think there are some tape recorders in the storage.”</p><p>Jon hums thoughtfully.  “That could work.”</p><p>“You’re the head of the department and you don’t know what equipment is available or where it is?”  Martin blurts out, surprised.  He’s beginning to think he’s the only one who bothered to actually get a look at the Archives before agreeing to work here.  Jon glares at him and Martin shrinks in on himself, wishing he’d had the sense to keep his mouth shut.  He’s definitely going to be sacked. </p><p>“It’s hardly <i>my</i> fault this place is such a disaster,” Jon snaps.  “I’ve no idea what Gertrude was thinking, allowing things to get into this state, and I’m astounded that Elias allowed it.  Honestly, I consider it an achievement that I was able to transcribe and look into two statements this morning even if there were technical difficulties with recording them.  After what we arrived to, whatever I do—”</p><p>‘“—The radio took me, the radio radio made me,”’ Tim sings, cutting off Jon’s rant. </p><p>Jon pauses for a moment and blinks before he huffs out a laugh.  It’s more a puff of air than a sound, but it’s the closest to a good mood Martin’s seen from him so far.  “Fine,” he says, “I suppose I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”</p><p>“You sure did, boss,” Tim says, grinning widely. </p><p>‘“What can we do but listen to stories, wretched or glorious?”’  Sasha sings with a small smile of her own as she plops a box of statements down on her desk.  “You boys ready to get started sorting these?” </p><p>Jon nods briskly.  “It’s good to see at least <i>one</i> of my assistants has the proper worth ethic,” he says, but his voice doesn’t hold the harsh edge of a real accusation, and one corner of his mouth is quirked up in what might almost be a smile. </p><p>“Oh, c’mon boss,” Tim says, “Cut us a little slack; you know we’re all trying as hard as we can.  ‘Don’t get me started about how hard it is to start or stay on track.’”</p><p>“Fine,” Jon huffs a sigh, “just see that you actually <i>do</i> get started, or we’ll <i>never</i> get this mess in order.  Oh, and Tim, let me know if you do run across any recording devices.  With the way my laptop is acting up, I’d be willing to accept even a tape recorder at this point.”  He retreats back into his office, closing the door behind him with a firm click. </p><p>Martin looks in wonder between Tim, Sasha, and the newly-closed door of Jon’s office.  “What was that?”  He asks. </p><p>“It’s from the song ‘Cold to See Clear,’ by Nada Surf,” Sasha explains.  “They’re this American Alternative Rock band Jon’s been listening to a lot recently.” </p><p>Tim grins.  “I try to quote lyrics with him whenever I can.  It’s like a game, and it usually gets him in a better mood.  Sasha plays too sometimes.”</p><p>Sasha nods.  “It’s a bit harder for me because I don’t usually listen to that kind of music.”</p><p>“So Jon listens to Alternative Rock?” Martin asks, not quite able to keep the disbelief out of his voice. </p><p>“No, no, no,” Tim waggles a finger at him in a comically exaggerated scolding posture.  “Jon listens to Nada Surf.  Saying he listens to Alternative Rock would imply that he listens to more than one band.”</p><p>Sasha gives a hum of dissent.  “I mean, he has listened to plenty of other bands in the past.  Before this it was what, Depeche Mode?”</p><p>“No, Depeche Mode was months ago, before Susheela Raman.  Billy Sagoo?”</p><p>“Oh!  I forgot about the Billy Sagoo phase.  Nah, I think that was after he got into Hozier for a bit.  Or was it Bastille?”</p><p>The two are silent for a moment, before Tim snaps his fingers and they both exclaim in unison, “Kryptos!”</p><p>Sasha laughs and smacks her forehead.  “Of course, how could I forget?!  The way he used to absolutely blast the music in his headphones when he got ticked off about something!  I was convinced he was going to go deaf.”</p><p>“Anyway, my point is,” Tim resumes, leaning back against the desk, “that Jon only ever listens to one band <i>at a time</i>, and right now for whatever reason that’s Nada Surf.”</p><p>“Jon goes through phases of interest,” Sasha explains.  “He’ll get really excited about this one topic and want to find out all about it and tell you everything he’s found out, or he’ll get into this one band and listen to all their albums and memorize song lyrics and look up interpretations, and then just as abruptly he’ll lose interest and move onto something else.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah.  He’s got a bookcase in his flat and the books on it are different every time I visit him,” Tim says.   “And he has a rotating assortment of documentaries.  If you can keep track of what he’s currently into it really does help to keep you on his good side, though.  It’s a good way to strike up a conversation or distract him from being upset with you.”  He winks, like he’s sharing a joke with Martin, so Martin smiles back even though he’s not sure what the joke is supposed to be. </p><p>For a moment, warmed by Tim’s smile, Martin allows himself to imagine sharing his interests with Tim and Sasha.  What would it be like to work with people who might not only read his favorite poems but quote lines back and forth with him?  Who might let him borrow words from Keats on the days when he can’t find his own? </p><p>“Unlike Tim, whose unchanging interests are kayaking and the architecture of Robert Smirke, and who is therefore entirely predictable,” Sasha says, smiling. </p><p>“You wound me, Sasha,” Tim says, clutching his chest dramatically.  “How could you possibly imagine that I could be summed up in only two hobbies?  I’ll have you know that I have a vast and wide-ranging assortment of interests.”</p><p>“Like what?” Martin asks. </p><p>“Ooh, burn!” Sasha shouts, smacking Tim’s arm. </p><p>“Et tu, Marto?” Tim gasps, stumbling backwards to collapse across his desk before springing back up like a push puppet.  “We’ve barely met, and you’re already betraying me!”</p><p>Martin tries to explain that he wasn’t trying to be sarcastic, he was just asking, that he’s genuinely interested, but Sasha cuts him off. </p><p>“Trust me, Martin,” Sasha says, looping her arm around his shoulders, “You picked right setting up your desk next to me instead of this loser.  I’m the cool one.”</p><p>“Don’t listen to her,” Tim tells Martin, with another wink and a nudge to Martin’s arm.  “She’s the biggest nerd.  Not to mention she’s practically a hacker.  Don’t you dare get her started about digital security.”</p><p>Sasha rolls her eyes.  “Being more tech-savvy than you and Jon hardly makes me a hacker, but yes, the state of the digital security in the Institute is absolutely shocking.  Not to mention our IT team consists of one person who doesn’t even have a Computer Science degree.  He’s absolutely rubbish at the job, no idea why Elias hired him.”</p><p>“Are you really that surprised?  I mean, I can think of another shining example right here in the Archives of Elias hiring someone who’s not qualified for the position,” Tim says. </p><p>Martin feels his stomach swoop likes he’s going down too quickly in an elevator.  Does Tim know that Martin lied on his CV?  How could he?  Tim doesn’t even have access to his CV.  Mr. Bouchard probably hasn’t even sent it to Jon yet, since Jon didn’t know Martin was coming to work in the Archives.  There’s no way for Tim to know.  Still, there’s no one else Tim could be talking about. </p><p>“Tim,” Sasha says, warningly, “I’m trying to get over it, and you rubbing it in isn’t going to help.  We both decided we’d support him when we came down here.  Besides, it’s the first day.  Is this really how you want to start things out in a new department?  Let’s at least give him a chance to prove himself.”</p><p>Martin twists his hands together, fingernails digging into the flesh, and bites his lip until he tastes the sharp iron tang of blood.  Does Sasha know too?  How could they both know?  Why are they being nice to him if they know?  Does Jon know?  No, there’s no way Jon knows or he would have already dismissed Martin instead of just threatening to.  But what if Tim or Sasha decides to tell Jon?  Or worse, what if someone goes straight to Mr. Bouchard?  Martin really needs this job.  Martin tries to keep his breathing slow and even.  He tries not to imagine Sasha applying to him the same phrase he used for the one-person IT department, ‘He’s absolutely rubbish at the job, no idea why Elias hired him.’  He’s getting freaked out over nothing.  They don’t know.  There’s no way they could know.  They’re talking about someone else.  They have to be. </p><p>“So, what about you?”  Tim asks, turning back towards Martin.  “What are you into?”</p><p>Martin opens his mouth, but before he can respond, Jon’s office door bangs open and his head pokes out, face tight with anger. </p><p>“Are the three of you actually going to do any work?”  He snaps, “Or is everyone just here to chitchat?  I requested Tim and Sasha specifically because I trusted in your competence and efficiency,” he says, directing a stern glare at Martin as if he thinks Martin’s the bad influence.  “If you are just here to socialize, then can you at least be polite enough to pass notes so I can try to get some recording done without your voices in the background?”  He slams the door shut again.
Martin grits his teeth.  So much for improving his earlier impression on the boss. </p><p>Tim arches his eyebrows.  “<i>Someone’s</i> in a mood today,” he singsong whispers to Sasha. </p><p>“He’s got a point,” she says, sitting down at her desk and starting to pull the statement folders out of the file box.  “We have a lot of work to do.  We’re going to have our hands full sorting through this chaos.  Martin, you have cataloging and filing experience, right?  Think you can give me a hand with sorting these out by date?”</p><p>“Oh, sure!”  Martin hurries over, glad to have his experience recognized and grateful to have a specific task to do.  Maybe Sasha <i>doesn’t</i> think he’s rubbish at this job.  Maybe she and Tim really <i>were</i> talking about someone else.  “Do you want date the event occurred or date the statement was given?”</p><p>Sasha hums thoughtfully.  “That’s a good question.  Probably date given, at least until the statements can be verified, but do take notes on the dates of the events.  It might help us get a timeline together for any of these that are connected.”</p><p>Martin takes a swig of tea from his mug and smiles.  “Sure thing!”  He can do this.  Working in the Archives is going to be a good experience.  He’ll <i>make</i> it one. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And here we go!  That’s the end of this story (but only the beginning of the series), so thanks to everyone who stuck around!  Feel free to comment here or check me out on tumblr (I'm @morning-softness).<br/>In true ‘mixing the mundane with the supernatural’ fashion, next up is a story about Tim and Martin going hiking on a trail that might be a manifestation of the Distortion.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: I’m not autistic and while I’m pretty sure I have ADHD, I never struggled enough in school for my family to pursue an official diagnosis.  If you have any issues with my interpretations of Jon or Martin please let me know, and I can see how I can improve on it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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